The Revelation of Truth
by Elvenqueen Sarah
Summary: As he watched his people be slaughtered and their blood stain the battleground, the Elvenking saw once again the horrors of the past. The Battle of the Five Armies through the eyes of Thranduil. (Canon!Thranduil)
1. The Father's Pain

**WARNING:** Do NOT read this story if you consider Tauriel to be the best Mary-Sue character ever created; believe the movie version of the character Thranduil to be the right one or are in any way anti-elves. The Thranduil in this story is heavily influenced by Tolkien's own words and the battle and other recognised events as I have written or referenced them follow Tolkien's canon (with only minor influences from PJ's movie version of them, and even then I've changed those quite substantially to fit in with Tolkien's original characters' personalities and how things happen in the book). If you continue to read the story knowing this information then please do not abuse me personally or insult my work (or Thranduil for that matter!) in a review – especially if all you're going to say is that I'm stupid for liking him and he's a nasty, horrible character.

Having been a fan of Tolkien from before the movies came out and as Thranduil has been my favourite character since I first read The Hobbit as a child, this story was basically written to restore some of the beautiful qualities endowed to Thranduil by Tolkien after he was so brutally mutilated by the movies, where all of his finer personality traits and caring moments were given to other characters and all we were left with was a cold, humourless Elvenking who apparently had no trouble killing others for treasure and would even commit an act of kin-slaying! However, I will give Lee Pace his due – he certainly looked how I always imagined Thranduil to appear and his performance was one of the best in the whole trilogy.

There are also no romantic pairings in this story.

 **A/N:** I do not claim to be as fantastic a writer as Tolkien, however I could not abide the thought of one of his characters being so maligned in the movie without doing something to defend him. This was supposed to be a very quick one-shot that I started after I first saw the third movie in January 2015, but 6 months later plus one computer crash that completely wiped the original 6000 words I had written which then needed to be recreated from memory and I've finally finished. I will also make a special mention of fellow member AzureSkye23 who in their story 'Arkenstone' asked for more writers to put canon Thranduil in their stories. In acceptance of their challenge I am proud to put 'Canon!Thranduil' in the summary for this story. :)

I also acknowledge the website www . arwen-undomiel for the variety of elven names in my story that are not recognised as being original Tolkien creations.

And last, but certainly not least, I dedicate this fanfic to "the greatest king" of the woodland realm, Thranduil, and of course to the wonderful Professor Tolkien without whom this beautiful character and the rest of Middle Earth would not exist. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I do not own the recognised characters mentioned in this story. They by right belong to **Professor JRR Tolkien** , creator of the Middle Earth world and all associated novels, including The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, with the exception of the character Tauriel who was created by Peter Jackson, Philippa Boyens and Fran Walsh. The majority of the recognised dialogue/events pertaining to The Hobbit are the property of **Professor JRR Tolkien** , with minor recognised dialogue/events being the property of Peter Jackson, Philippa Boyens and Fran Walsh. The unrecognised dialogue/events of the story are from my own imagination and represent my impression on the actions, thoughts and feelings of the characters surrounding the aforementioned recognised events. I am not making any profit from this story.

* * *

 **THE REVELATION OF TRUTH**

" **Spurn not at seeming error, but dig below its surface for the truth;**

 **And beware of seeming truths that grow on the roots of error."**

 **\- M Tupper**

* * *

 _ **Part 1 – The Father's Pain**_

" _Long will I tarry, ere I begin this war for gold."_

" _Let us hope still for something that will bring reconciliation."_

At the head of his army that lay hidden in the lower slopes of the southern spur of the mountain, and grimly watching as the Men of the Lake's feint of resistance in the ruins of Dale drew back to allow the enemy into the valley below, Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood, recalled with a wry smile his earlier words to Bard when the bowman would have them command their forces to attack _Dáin_ and his dwarves as they attempted to make their way into the mountain. He may have been willing to wait an age before waging a war over treasure, but it would appear that others were not so patient. He had hoped that the situation would be resolved by something other than a fight against a common enemy; preferably Thorin proving himself to be unlike his Nogrod forebears, who betrayed and slew King Thingol for the Nauglamir, by actually honouring the agreement reached with Bard and handing over one fourteenth share of the silver and gold to the people of Laketown in exchange for the Arkenstone; the precious jewel that had been quite remarkably and unhesitatingly delivered into the human's hands by the most courageous little fellow wearing the armour of an elf-prince. Truly, had the hobbit accepted his invitation to stay that first night of their meeting he would have ordered a toast in his honour. As it was he may yet do so, and he would use his very best Dorwinion wine to do it too.

'Archers will attack first, all others will hold.'

 _I trust Mithrandir found a safe place for the little one,_ the Elvenking thought, a small smile curving his lips as he thought of the hobbit's declaration that he would prefer to make a stand with the elves rather than on the eastern spur with the Iron Hill dwarves and men of Laketown, even offering to use his small sword in defence of the king (who had not had the heart to correct him and say it was a knife). _A battlefield is no place for one so small._

'Archers, ready!'

Thranduil's sword glinted menacingly as he raised it high, and the soft whisper of five hundred deadly elf-archers drawing their arrows drifted across the air as the ranks of the enemy continued to swell.

'Hold your arrows until they are dense in the valley,' Thranduil ordered coldly, his eyes merciless as he looked upon the screeching multitude. After seeing the horror of the fall of Doriath and the blood-soaked field of Dagorlad at the Black Gate of Mordor, plus the many other battles he had survived in his long life, the sight before him was not yet enough to shake his composure.

'No quarter is to be given.'

Had he known when they were his prisoners that the vagabond group of dwarves whom he had taken for thieves and spies, and who had refused to answer his questions with rude and insulting remarks, were in fact the company of Thorin Oakenshield, the Elvenking would have warned them against what he later suspected was going to be attempted burglary, knowing that a dragon would very quickly notice when a single precious item from its hoard went missing. He never thought that the dwarves would be foolish enough to awaken the beast and attempt to reclaim the mountain, no matter what was said in the reports his raft-elves brought back from Laketown after the dwarves were unknowingly delivered there, safe and unharmed, by his own elves and in wine barrels from his personal cellar no less!

'Show them no mercy.'

After he had first heard of the death of Smaug he knew it was an ill-wind that blew no one any good. Whilst the dragon slept on his hoard of treasure, Thranduil knew that his realm and the good folk of Laketown were reasonably safe from a goblin invasion since no one would be so unwise as to attempt to lay siege of the mountain whilst the dragon lived. But when the dragon was slain and Thorin, along with all his companions, were presumed dead, the pivotal position of the mountain made it an important stronghold for whichever force could take it; and if he knew this then so would his enemy in Dol Guldur, along with every other foul beast throughout the lands.

'HOLD!'

When he first set out for the mountain it was not only to prevent it from falling into the hands of a goblin horde, as had the dwarven realm of Moria, but because he knew that the jewels best loved by his people were buried inside those walls, including some that rightfully belonged to him. However, when he received Bard's beseeching plea for assistance he could not ignore it and so diverted from his course. He could not regret his actions; even if they had allowed the very much alive Thorin the extra days to barricade himself like a petty thief inside the mountain, against even those with a just claim on part of the treasure, like the people of Laketown who had lost everything due to their act of hospitality. His raft-elves had informed him of the people's generosity to the dwarves; of the food and shelter provided to them during their lengthy stay, and also the many provisions they had gifted to the dwarves for their journey to the mountain. But even without this, they still had a claim on the treasure of Dale that was stolen by Smaug and therefore rightfully belonged to the descendants of the people who once lived in the ruined city.

He did, however, have one regret.

'HOLD!'

That he acceded to his son's request that he be one of the spies sent out to watch over the mountain and to follow his Captain of the Guard who, after hearing the same report from his raft-elves about the dwarves, had abandoned her post and her people to chase after one of the surly naugrim whom the Elvenking had no trouble believing had flattered her young and foolish elven vanity during their lengthy imprisonment in an attempt to obtain information on how to escape. According to his aide Tegalad, there had been no word or sign of his son since he was last seen taking a northern road with Tauriel. None of the elves who had travelled on the water to take the first supply of goods to the survivors of Laketown knew why he had gone as they had not arrived until after he had left; and when Thranduil himself had questioned Bard the man could tell him nothing, only that Legolas had mentioned to him a suspicion of something brewing from that direction. Glaring coldly at the gathering mass of foul creatures in the valley, Thranduil knew that if his son had come across this army then he was most likely lying slain, his pure elven blood staining the scimitar of one of the screeching goblins before him.

Hatred, cold and bitter, filled the breast of the Elvenking, and swiftly lowering his sword he gave the order.

'RELEASE!'

A deadly shower of arrows shot through the air, each flickering in its flight as if lit with stinging fire and each one found its mark with lethal accuracy.

'RELEASE!'

A second volley was sent and followed the same course as the first. Then a third, fourth and finally a fifth, until several ranks of goblins and wolves littered the ground, their bodies pierced with many arrows.

'Elves of the Woodland Realm, to battle!'

In one powerful move the Elvenking's elk leapt forward and brandishing his sword high, Thranduil led a thousand of his force in the first charge, the spears and swords of his elf warriors shining in the gloom with a gleam of chill flame, so deadly was the wrath of the hands that held them. The deafening yells of the goblins as they faced the sudden onslaught echoed across the valley; but no matter how much black goblin blood was spilt to stain the rocks on the battlefield, it could not diminish the grief growing inside Thranduil's heart at the thought of his son's possible fate.

Decimating his opponents with a lethal precision honed from thousands of years of experience, the Elvenking kept a vigilant eye on his elves and was quick to notice when their group became too widespread, leaving many isolated and fighting without sufficient support.

'Eraisuithan, signal them to regroup and summon half of those keeping watch on the eastern shoulder.'

The eldest and most loyal of his aides hurried to obey and soon the elf-charge was halted as the elves fought to return to a stronger formation.

'MORIA!'

'DÁIN! DÁIN!'

The deep-throated roar shook the ground and turning to look at the eastern spur, Thranduil watched in relief as the dwarves of the Iron Hills, all wielding their mattocks, and the men of Laketown, their long swords drawn, descended from the other side of the mountain and plunged into the sea of battle.

Their screeches rising to a terrible crescendo, the goblins panicked as they turned to face this new assault, only for their fear to increase further as the elves charged again, the company summoned from the eastern shoulder swelling their number to a formidable size. Terror-stricken, many goblins began to run, desperately seeking to escape the trap, only to find themselves turned upon by their own wolves who tore into the dead and wounded alike.

'My King we have them! See how they flee!'

A very young Silvan elf that Thranduil recognised as a dear friend of his son turned toward him, in his distraction not seeing the large goblin strike at him from behind.

Too late to deflect the killing blow, Thranduil swiftly brought retribution upon the goblin, not allowing the grief for the elf-life cut so short to distract him. Then casting his eyes toward the screeching enemy, the Elvenking saw that Alyan had been right – the goblin horde was hastily making its way back down the river. Hearing the cheers of men and dwarves, Thranduil knew he was not the only one hopeful of a quick victory.

'MY KING! THEY ARE COM –'

His golden head looking up sharply, Thranduil felt his heart sink and the hope of victory vanished instantly from his mind. The elf's body falling from above could only mean one thing – the goblins had scaled the mountain from the other side. Even as he watched the foul creatures ran on the slopes above the Gate and were recklessly streaming down the paths toward the spurs, heedless of their members who fell screaming from cliff and precipice.

'ARCHERS TO THE REAR!'

His roared command had many elves leaving the valley to race back up to join those who had remained on the southern spur as the rearguard.

'Send word to Dáin and Bard,' Thranduil shouted as the tumultuous sounds of battle carried down from the mountain. 'We will hold this position, they must see to the eastern side.'

 _And let us yet hope their numbers will not continue to grow,_ he thought grimly.

However, as the day drew on the Elvenking watched in dismay as the goblin multitude once again swelled in the valley. A host of ravening wargs accompanied by the bodyguard of Bolg, goblins of huge size armed with scimitars of cold steel, had now joined them, and a large number of the great bats that had arrived with the first goblin army continued to circle above the conflict, with many an arrow shot by elf, man and dwarf piercing their bodies as they attempted to fasten upon the fallen warriors lying on the field.

His own force was now held at bay near the watch-post on Ravenhill, and such was the formidable size of the enemy that he could not spare even a small number of his warriors to lend aid to the dwarves and men who were fighting to defend the eastern spur.

Suddenly a great shout rang out above the clamorous noise of battle, and from the Gate came a loud trumpet call.

'Now shall the sons of Durin prove themselves,' Thranduil muttered, cutting down a wolf and rider that had made it past his personal guard.

Then a thunderous crash shook the ground violently.

Glancing toward the Gate, the Elvenking saw that part of the wall had fallen outward and through the opening leapt the militant figure of the King under the Mountain, his armour shining in the gloom like gold in a dying fire and a powerful axe grasped firmly in his hands. Behind him came all his companions, hood and cloaks gone and similarly adorned in sturdy armour. Despite an attack of hurled rocks from above the dwarves continued forward, their faces filled with fiery purpose as they rushed forward into battle.

'TO ME! TO ME! ELVES AND MEN! TO ME! O MY KINSFOLK!'

Thorin's voice sounded out like a horn in the valley as he advanced upon the goblin horde before him, wielding his axe with mighty strokes until both wolf and rider either fell or fled before him. On the eastern side Dáin and all his dwarves hurried down in a formless jumble of bodies to join with their king, and with them went many of the Lake-men.

As the foul creatures in the valley shifted to meet the revived attack, Thranduil ordered one third of his remaining spearmen to advance to Thorin's location. 'For their numbers are too few to hold the advantage for long. All others must hold this position. Should our ranks fail then all shall be slaughtered or captured down in the valley.'

Then the Elvenking re-entered the fray, his elk powerfully breaking through the goblin ranks whilst his sword slashed through their numbers with merciless speed.

As the combined force of elves, men and dwarves cut through the lines of the enemy the ground was soon rendered dark and hideous with their corpses. From his high vantage point, the Elvenking saw Thorin's brutal advance continue, his axe-wielding form scattering the wargs and smashing through his opponents with seemingly unstoppable force. But then he saw the dwarf-king's successful advance abruptly halted by the bodyguard of Bolg, just as his faithful elk fell beneath him, its majestic body pierced with a barrage of goblin arrows.

His mounted advantage lost, Thranduil's focus now turned to those foes immediately before him; his tall, intimidating form moving through their multitude with ruthless efficiency as his sword strokes fell swiftly and despatched his attackers with lethal precision. However, as the screams and clashes of battle continued the Elvenking could not help but be aware of the increasing number of bodies that lay amidst the filth of Sauron's dead: the brave men of Laketown; the fierce dwarves from the Iron Hills; and so many of his own fair elves who should have lived yet long ages merrily in the wood.

A quick glance over the battlefield only served to heighten the Elvenking's dismay. As the valley widened the armies of elves, men and dwarves was stretching too thin, their numbers too few to maintain any form of unity and so the main body of each force was now completely separated from the other, with the enemy pressing them back toward the mountain. In the middle of the conflict Thranduil could see Thorin and his dwarves forced into a great ring and hemmed in on all sides, with goblins and wolves now returning to the assault.

For the briefest moment the Elvenking thought of the elf warriors left behind in Mirkwood and those left at the Long Lake with the women, children, the infirm and the elderly, to help build winter shelters under the direction of the Master of Laketown. Thranduil did not know whether he should regret their absence, or be relieved that their lives would be spared from the carnage.

'My King their numbers continue to grow!'

The elf's cry ended on a sharp gasp. Looking about quickly, the Elvenking saw one of his youngest aides start to collapse, a bloody red stain spreading out across his tunic from where a spear had pierced his chest. Hastening to the young elf's side, Thranduil caught him just as a loud call for aid came from the mountain.

Turning his gaze to where his force was positioned on the southern spur, Thranduil felt any tiny flicker of hope he may yet still have possessed dwindle until it disappeared almost completely. Descending like a black flood the goblins were swarming down the mountain slopes in even greater numbers than before, their screeches rending the sky and their trampling feet sounding out like thunder.

Looking from where the majority of his army struggled to maintain their position against the attack from above, to where his other elves desperately fought to advance through the increasingly vicious horde in the valley that was pushing them back, Thranduil had to acknowledge the unhappy truth – he had not sufficient warriors left that he could continue to divide their numbers and so send any assistance to Bard on the eastern spur or to Thorin and Dáin who were completely surrounded.

'Recall the company.' Regret for the decision he had to make hardened his voice, and turning to the members of his personal guard that had fought closest to him, the Elvenking relinquished the injured elf to their care, then ordered sharply, 'Eraisuithon, have them unify our forces, I want our position strengthened immediately. No advance is to be attempted on either front and only defensive action is to be taken.'

Casting one last glance to where the dwarves were fighting, Thranduil observed quietly, 'I am afraid Thorin Oakenshield and his company will need to try and pierce through those ranks without our help.'

His flank zealously guarded by his spearmen who fought off the attacks from the goblins gathered in the valley, the Elvenking, his expression an icy mask, began to quickly lead his elves back toward Ravenhill where he could see the main body of his army hurriedly manoeuvring itself against the heavy assault.

Unexpectedly, as they reached the rocks scattered at the foot of the southern spur, the figure of his disgraced Captain of the Guard stepped out from behind one of the stones and confronted him.

'You will go no farther,' she declared belligerently. 'You will not turn away.'

In no mood to deal with insubordination, Thranduil glared at her.

'Get out of my way,' he commanded icily, his patience exhausted by the long day of battle and the prospect of what was most likely going to be another futile effort to protect the mountain that had already resulted in the deaths of so many of his people and those of his friends from Laketown; not to mention the dwarves of the Iron Hills, whom he had to admit had fought valiantly.

Looking up sharply as another call for aid came from the higher levels of the mountain, Thranduil turned his back dismissively on Tauriel and summoned two of his elves.

'Mafortion, Hirgon, lead part of the company and reinforce the defences on our eastern side. Instruct the archers to target the larger goblins; in such terrain the smaller ones will be more easily defeated by our spearmen.'

'The dwarves will be slaughtered.'

The statement, clearly said in an attempt to awaken a sensation of guilt inside him, only served to increase the Elvenking's anger. The decision to recall all his force to the mountain had not been lightly made and he had already witnessed the shadow of death claim so many that day he did not need the reminder that the dark spectre would continue to stretch forth its insidious hand. Added to all this was the fact that the elf who had betrayed his trust by her actions was the one standing before him, and not his beloved son, whom his heart ached to see again and whose whereabouts still remained unknown to him. Anguish over his son's possible fate had sharp and bitter words falling from his lips

'Yes they will die; today, tomorrow, one year hence, a hundred years from now. What does it matter, they are mortal.'

 _It is fated and natural for them to die. Unlike my father and my beautiful wife who should still be here, and my son who was last seen in your company and of whom you have not spoken, along with all the first born of_ _Ilúvatar_ _who should never have to feel the pain of having their spirits ripped from their bodies by death._

The deluge of thoughts remained unspoken, but their voices continued to flood the Elvenking's mind.

Suddenly, Tauriel then did something that Thranduil and the eldest of those Sindar elves present had not seen since the last days of the kinslaying – she drew her weapon and pointed it threateningly at her king.

'You think your life is worth more than theirs when there is no love in it,' she spat, her words like Ungoliant's venom poisoning the already defiled air. 'There is no love in you.'

Fury, cold and overwhelming in its power, arose inside the Elvenking's breast. The dwarves insulting comment that the foul spiders who infested his once beautiful forest were his pets paled in comparison to this accusation from a young, immature elf who knew nothing of the dreadful pain that occurred when the marriage bond between an elf and his bride was shattered by the death of one. Nor had she ever before seen the horror as family, friends and other elves in numbers beyond all measure were slain on a violent, blood-soaked battlefield, like the ones whose faces and screams still haunted his memory. Added to all this she had the unmitigated insolence to say he had no love in him when his entire being was screaming for knowledge of his only child.

Striking out with barely contained rage, Thranduil's sword slashed through the air and in one blow destroyed the bow of his accuser. As Tauriel stared with disbelief at the remnants scattered at her feet the Elvenking stepped forward, his sword gripped tightly in the hand lowered at his side and his eyes blazing like blue flames of fire.

'What do you know of love? Nothing!' Disconcertingly the Elvenking heard his voice break as his emotional pain managed to crack the detached persona he always assumed during battle. Determined not to reveal any more of his private grief, Thranduil focused on uncovering the real motive behind the elf's actions.

'What you think you feel for that dwarf is false; a superficial emotion based on nothing but empty flattery and deceit.'

At his words Tauriel's eyes shot up to his, the shaken expression in them confirming his suspicions. Renewed anger burned through him. She had dared accuse him of being without love when she would have him send countless elves recklessly to their deaths, uncaring of the many families who waited for them back in Mirkwood, all to save one with whom she had nothing more than a shallow acquaintance of a few weeks duration.

'You allowed a few pretty speeches, given by an imprisoned dwarf in the hope of eliciting information, to turn your head and you think it is love?' Thranduil demanded, thinking of his father's deep pain as he watched his grievously injured wife (from whose Vanyarin blood Thranduil had received his golden hair) depart for Valinor after the fall of Doriath, and then of his own anguish when he had made a desperate, and ultimately unsuccessful, attempt to save his fair queen in the midst of battle. 'Would you be willing to risk everything for it? Would you be prepared to give your life for it?'

His challenge, designed to make her question the strength and depth of her feelings, remained unanswered by Tauriel; but a response was made, and in such words that they inflicted more pain than a morgul blade thrust into the body.

'If she is willing then she will not risk it alone, for I will never leave a friend forsaken to die by themselves.'

His stricken eyes fixed upon his son's form that had stepped in front of him, Thranduil felt the relief that had flooded through him turning to hot shards of grief upon realising that the child he had raised, showing no indication that he was pleased to find his father safe and unharmed in the middle of a battle, could stare up at him so coldly. That his son could also so easily make reference to the possibility of losing his own life only gave an extra twist to the dagger of pain piercing the Elvenking's heart.

Silently turning his face away from him, Thranduil did not see as Legolas lowered his own head, a shadow of deep shame appearing in his eyes for the unspeakable sorrow his words had brought upon his parent. But not knowing what he could say that would alleviate the pain he had caused, Legolas turned his head toward his young friend and said quietly, 'I will go with you.'

The increasing noise of battle from the mountain sounded dim in Thranduil's ears as he watched his son accompany the flame-haired elf through the elven ranks and toward the goblin horde pressing against the rearguard.

'My King, what are your orders?'

At Eraisuithan's question, Thranduil dragged his gaze away from his son and without hesitation replied, 'take command of our forces and ensure they hold our position on the mountain. If our lines are breached it will not take long before the entire mountain is lost.'

Staring at him in shock his aide asked, 'but My King, if I am to command what of yourself?'

Looking down to where Legolas' fair hair could still be seen amongst the darker hair of Silvan elves, the Elvenking quietly stated, 'I will be strengthening my son's position.'

Instantly a great outcry arose from amongst the elves with many offering to accompany him.

A small smile, slightly tinged with sadness, briefly appeared on Thranduil's face before he rejected each offer. 'Nay, I would not so weaken our forces. Your task is to defend the mountain; mine is to protect my son.' With a final gesture of farewell he turned and started after his son, and many an elf there was who sent up a heartfelt petition to Elbereth to protect him as he passed by.

'Could we not send some of the company with him?'

Glancing at the young elf beside him, Eraisuithan did not pause as he obeyed his king's order and began to lead the company up the mountain. 'Not even for his own son would he risk further weakening our army when it faces an assault on both sides.'

A sudden strong gust of wind tearing through the late afternoon air sent the long hair of the elves fluttering like so many strange banners heralding a great cry as it rang out from above.

'Was that not the voice of the halfling?' Thranduil questioned as he briefly paused to look in the direction of the sound. The elves around him murmured their uncertainty, none of them having spoken to the hobbit who had won their king's admiration and regard.

'THE EAGLES! THE EAGLES! THE EAGLES ARE COMING!'

Although they looked in the direction of the joyful shout the elves were astonished when their eyes, capable of differentiating between a sparrow and a finch from a league off, could not find the source of the cry. However, a spark of new hope had grown inside the Elvenking and without needing to see the owner of the voice he called out, 'Elbereth's blessings on you Bilbo Baggins if you speak truly.'

'THE EAGLES! THE EAGLES!'

The gleeful voice came again and soon the entire elven force had taken up the cry, their lilting voices carrying the message to all their friends on the battlefield as the sound echoed across the valley.

'THE EAGLES!

The triumphant cry came once more from the unseen hobbit before his voice fell silent, but Thranduil, hastily redirecting his army, did not notice.

'Faeron inform Eraisuithan that I want all our forces in the valley the moment the mountain is freed of the goblin filth. Knowing the eagles, it should not take them long to accomplish that task.'

And indeed, it did not.

As the Elvenking hastened after his son the Lord of the Eagles arrived, his enormous, majestic form highlighted against the red sunset sky and leading a great host that descended upon the goblin horde with vicious speed, their huge talons plucking large numbers of the enemy from the mountain-slopes and casting the foul beings screeching over precipices as the others ran shrieking in terror. Soon the chilling battle cry of the elf warriors and the loud yells of the Men of Laketown were heard once again as they found themselves free to descend the mountain and come at last to the help of those in the battle below.

However, as the battle in the valley continued, and the strength of the enemy did not seem to wane, it became apparent to the Elvenking that even with the eagles help they continued to be outnumbered. His sword shining brightly as it slashed through the goblin ranks with lethal execution, Thranduil saw his son fighting in the middle of a great multitude some distance away from where the dwarves were making a stand upon a low rounded hill. Without regard for his own safety, the Elvenking launched a vicious assault on the snarling creatures that stood between himself and his son, uncaring that he was now almost completely isolated from the rest of his people.

Suddenly, over the clash of steel and screams of death, two deep anguished cries resonated across the valley.

'FILI!'

Instinctively glancing over toward the sound, Thranduil briefly saw one of the younger dwarves, a goblin scimitar piercing his throat, collapse by the figures of Thorin and another young dwarf, before his attention was diverted to a large party of goblins gathering around him, their fetid stench surrounding him as they attacked. His tall form moving swiftly amongst them, Thranduil wielded his sword with pitiless efficiency and speed as in his mind the image of a dwarf falling with a goblin scimitar embedded in their throat morphed into one of his son meeting a similar fate.

When next he was able to look in the direction of the place where he had last seen his son, Thranduil felt absolute horror fill his heart; his fair haired child was nowhere in sight and a pack of wolves was savagely tearing into the bodies of any who lay on the field; the wounded and dead alike.

Paternal fear, pure and unadulterated, washed over the Elvenking, and with blazing eyes promising retribution to any foolish enough to stand in his way he rushed forward, swiftly cutting through the lines of his enemies and annihilating them with ease as he desperately sought for some sign of his child.

His sword strokes falling tirelessly and without pause, even as early evening began to descend, Thranduil was deaf to everything but the hope of hearing his son's voice. He did not hear the horrid shrieks that escaped the goblins when his blade sliced through their flesh; nor did he turn when Thorin's grief-stricken voice cried out the name of his sister's last son as the young dwarf Kili fell slain, having used his own body to shield his uncle from a mortal blow. The King under the Mountain's scream of rage as he launched himself at his nephew's murderer also went unheard; indeed, so great was the Elvenking's concentration on the search for his son he was not even aware when Beorn, his great bear shape grown almost to giant-size in his wrath, suddenly descended upon the wolves and goblins with a fearsome roar; his huge form tossing them from his path like straws and feathers as he broke like a clap of thunder through the ring gathered around Thorin and his army. The first Thranduil knew of the skin-changer's presence was when the massive black bear appeared right before him, one enormous paw swiping away three large goblins as they attacked and the other carrying the wounded form of Thorin.

'O King, he is grievously injured,' Beorn growled in the tongue of bears. 'He fell pierced with many spears.'

One quick glimpse at the dwarf-king's face was enough to reveal the truth to Thranduil's eyes.

'His spirit fights to remain though his body is beyond the hope of saving,' he said quietly, and bestowing what small favour he could from one king to another, directed, 'take him to some of my people near the mountain where he may rest; he should not have to die among this filth.'

The great bear bowed his head and had begun to turn away when Thranduil, his voice suddenly harsh with suppressed emotion, cried out, 'Beorn, wait! I would know if you have seen aught of my son?'

His dark eyes glinting with compassion, Beorn looked back and growled apologetically, 'I have seen many of your fair people in the battle, O King, but none were he whom you seek.'

Disappointment held Thranduil's tongue silent as he acknowledged the words with a small inclination of his head. Then, as Beorn bore Thorin out of the fray, the Elvenking focused a glacial look on the pack of goblins heading toward him and charged, his form moving with punishing speed as he focused all his wrath and worry on those who confronted him. When Beorn swiftly returned to the battle with his anger redoubled and so brutal in his attacks no enemy could withstand him, Thranduil took his own assault in the other direction knowing he could trust the skin-changer to only kill those whom he hated; a belief that was soon proved to be fully justified.

His enormous body seemingly impervious to any weapon used against him, Beorn's loud roars shook the valley as he scattered the goblin bodyguard around their leader and then, with the most fearsome roar of all, he pulled down Bolg himself and crushed him.

As the goblins saw their leader destroyed, complete dismay filled their minds and in blind panic they turned and fled in all directions. Thranduil, his sword poised and ready to strike, suddenly found himself staring with a quizzical expression in his eyes as the group of goblins in front of him turned and ran.

His arm slowly lowering his sword to his side, the Elvenking watched as many of the enemy were driven into the Running River, whilst the remainder that fled to the south and west were pursued closely by Beorn and a vast host of the elves, men and dwarves who were now filled with a renewed hope that washed the weariness from their bodies.

As the screeching hordes continued to move farther away with their followers in close pursuit, Thranduil heard the sound of movement coming from behind him. Swiftly turning around he found himself looking across a stretch of the battlefield at a large, wounded goblin as it stumbled over a body.

'You think you have won,' the creature spat, a horrible watery cough erupting from its mouth and sending a flow of black blood down its chin.

An impassive look on his face, Thranduil slowly walked forward, his feet falling lightly on the ground that was now watered with the blood of his people.

'This war is not over,' the goblin snarled, raising the red-stained scimitar in his hand. 'Our master will rise again and your kingdoms will fail with your people becoming nothing more than our playthings. Your world will be reduced to ashes.'

'Not before my people have sung about yours,' Thranduil replied, his voice like the deadly calm before a storm. Then, moving with lithe grace, he swiftly crossed the distance between them and striking with merciful precision his sword sliced cleanly through the goblin's thick neck.

As the decapitated corpse fell to the ground an expression of distaste clouded Thranduil's eyes as he surveyed the black blood coating his elven blade.

" _My son, always remember to wipe your sword."_

His father's words, sounding as clearly inside his mind as on the day he first heard them many millennia ago, had the Elvenking stepping over to a wolf carcass and with two quick swipes he used the dead animal's fur to remove the tainted blood from his sword.

'Lord Thranduil.'

Surprised by the respectful greeting, coming as it did from a dwarf tongue, Thranduil looked to the side and saw the old dwarf who had made the insulting comment about the spiders being his pets hurrying toward him, and accompanying him came two dwarves from the Iron Hills.

'Yes, what do you want?' The Elvenking's tone was courteous, but his manner was quite cool; after all, one did not forget an insult such as made by the dwarf so easily.

Coming to a ragged stop, the three dwarves' heavy breaths filled the evening air before Balin took one step forward and made a slight bow.

'O King, we humbly ask that you please tell us where we may find our king, Thorin. One of our number saw Beorn take him to you but we do not know what became of him after that.'

Gazing down at the proud faces raised beseechingly to his, Thranduil felt a stir of pity in his heart, for their plight was not dissimilar to his own.

'I regret to say Master Dwarf that I have no knowledge as to the current whereabouts of your king,' he replied honestly. At their looks of extreme disappointment he added, 'however, I would suggest you look amongst the areas my people will set up for the wounded as I instructed Beorn to place your king in their care during the battle.'

Had the situation not been so grave, the Elvenking would have smiled at the horrified expressions that flashed across the dwarves' faces; clearly they were not enamoured with the thought of their king being cared for by elves.

Uttering a quick word of thanks the three dwarves turned to go.

'Hold a moment.'

At the authoritative command the dwarves looked back rebelliously; only for their eyes to widen in disbelief as they looked at the slim, graceful hand stretched out toward them. Held between deceptively delicate fingers was a fine silver ring adorned with a beautiful large, green gem.

'When you find him, hand this to the elves who are with your king, it will ensure that they provide any assistance you require in moving him.'

Balin, his old eyes shimmering as he accepted the ring, gave a low bow and said gruffly, 'we are truly grateful for your generosity, O King.'

'If you truly are grateful then I would ask that you answer one question with perfect honesty.'

At the Elvenking's words a wary look descended upon the faces of the dwarves. Shifting uncomfortably whilst their hands fiddled nervously with their long beards, they looked hesitant to reply before Balin answered with as much tact as he could muster, 'O King, we do not seek to repay your kind gesture with rudeness; however, we cannot divulge any secrets that are only permitted to be known by our own race.'

His exasperated eyes looking up toward the darkening sky, Thranduil exclaimed, 'Elbereth save me from the secretiveness of dwarves!' Inhaling slowly, the Elvenking then lowered his gaze once more to the dwarves and said quietly, 'I do not seek to know any of your peoples' many secrets, Master Dwarf. I only desire to know if any of you saw my son during the last heat of battle, or may know of someone who did.'

One of the dwarves from the Iron Hills took a small step forward. 'I did see an elf warrior that bore resemblance to you, O King,' he revealed. 'After the skin-changer removed our king from the battle I saw him fighting near to our army, but after the elf-maid with the hair of fire was slain he disappeared and I did not see him again.'

Closing his eyes as dread filled his heart, Thranduil did not respond when the dwarves muttered their apologies and moved away. In his mind a flood of memories began to surface of Legolas, Tauriel and his son's other friends as they walked through the halls of his kingdom, their voices raised in song (even whilst escorting prisoners into his presence!), and as they feasted merrily in the forest when their faces would be alight with joyous laughter and their voices singing such fair songs that the trees themselves seemed to shake with mirth, as they had on the evening Thorin Oakenshield was captured after he disrupted yet another of their celebrations. From the moment she had been found as a child wandering alone in the forest by Legolas during one of their hunting parties and he had granted her sanctuary in his kingdom, Tauriel had always been a favourite of his son; indeed, he himself had a number of times laughingly referred to her as his son's little shadow. And now his son had witnessed her death. Thranduil knew only too well the different reactions his son's grief might have prompted and it was this knowledge that caused the overwhelming fear to build inside of him as he began to search the battlefield.

'O Elbereth Gilthoniel, I beseech you, help me find him. Let his life have been spared.'

The heartfelt plea sounded all the more sincere for falling from such proud lips; and, as his tall form moved through the bloodied and broken bodies strewn across the valley, the petition continued to echo inside Thranduil's heart.

Not once through the long hours of night, aided by the shining light of the moon and stars, did the Elvenking pause in his search. Any survivors he discovered, be they elves, men or dwarves, he immediately placed in the care of his guards who would in turn hastily deliver them to the camp and then return to his side. But of his own son he could find not a single trace.

The early light of dawn had long since broken across the sky when Thranduil, approaching a part of the valley near the Gate that was densely covered in casualties, caught a glimpse of a body with long fair hair lying motionless under the heavy, dead weight of a large warg. His blood turning to ice in his veins, the Elvenking sped across the distance, his light steps barely touching the ground as he moved with the fleetness of a March wind toward the prone form. The warg's body, offering no great challenge to his elven strength, was quickly removed and then, his breath catching in his throat, Thranduil looked down at the revealed face. Staring sightlessly back at him were the dark grey eyes of Eglerion, an elf he had known for an age before he became king.

Sorrow and relief mingled together in Thranduil's heart; sorrow for the passing of one he counted as a dear friend and relief that it was not Legolas' eyes, shadowed and vacant with death, that stared back at him.

Kneeling down beside the slain body, Thranduil bowed his head and reaching out one gentle hand slowly closed the elf's eyes. 'May you swiftly enter the Halls of Mandos and find peace.' The whispered farewell was followed by a simple, but respectful, gesture of honour.

Rising once more to his feet, Thranduil turned to the members of his personal guard who were now gathered behind him and ordered quietly, 'have his body conveyed to where the others are being placed.'

As several of the elves stepped forward, Thranduil saw another approaching quickly from the direction of Dale. The elf's normally immaculate appearance was marred by a dark bloodstain on his light tunic and a bandage wrapped tightly around his right shoulder.

'My King, Mithrandir requests that you please make with all haste to the camp. The dwarf-king Thorin has regained consciousness and has asked that you attend upon his person.'

'He still lives?'

'Aye, My King, he does; both our healers and Mithrandir have done what they can to try and prolong his life but Mithrandir believes he will not live to see many more hours of this day.'

Thranduil raised one disbelieving eyebrow. 'And he would choose to spend some of that short time speaking with an elf?'

A small smile touched the messenger's lips. 'My King, I gave up trying to understand the minds of dwarves centuries ago.'

Glancing over his shoulder at the large section of the battlefield that had yet to be searched, Thranduil sighed quietly; the sound so low it was inaudible to even the ears of the elves gathered behind him.

'Eraisuithan, I want you to take –'

'Father.'

Thranduil's voice ceased instantly at the softly spoken word. All other sounds and thoughts seemed to dissolve into nothing, leaving only himself and the lingering resonance of that most precious voice for a moment that transcended time. His blue eyes shining with a brilliant light that had not been there for many days, he turned in a single, graceful move and looked down to meet the solemn and haunted gaze of his child.

'Legolas.' The name escaped the Elvenking's lips on a breath of sound. 'My son.'

Dignity and kingly pride forgotten, Thranduil stepped forward and clasped his son in his arms, his eyes closing tightly as the crushing weight of relief pressed against his heart and his voice whispered a praise of thanks to Elbereth. Legolas, his initial hesitance disappearing, quietly returned his father's embrace. Unnoticed by either elf, the Elvenking's personal guard withdrew to a discreet distance and averted their faces, affording their king and his son what small measure of privacy they could.

An eon seemed to pass until Thranduil slowly loosened his hold on Legolas and took a small step back.

'Were you injured?'

Accompanying his anxious question with a close examination of his son's body, Thranduil was quick to note a small bloodstain below the left shoulder. Following the direction of his father's concerned gaze, Legolas looked down on the minor wound.

''Tis nothing but a scratch,' he said. 'I grew careless whilst helping to hunt down the goblins as they fled.'

'Have our healers treat it,' Thranduil ordered. 'Any weapon of those foul creatures could be poisoned.'

Legolas nodded. 'I will Father, but I must tell you that my intention of coming to find you was to allow me to take my leave.'

Lowering his head, the Elvenking's sorrow radiated in his voice as he admitted, 'I must confess your decision is not unexpected.' Looking back into his son's eyes, Thranduil revealed, 'one of the dwarves informed me of Tauriel's passing and I knew grief would not fall lightly upon you. She was ever a favourite of yours and I know you will feel her loss keenly. Where will you go?'

The same lost expression that had clouded Legolas' eyes after learning of his mother's death shadowed them once again. 'I do not know,' he answered, his voice sounding much younger and uncertain than normal. 'All I know is that I cannot be where I will be reminded of her and all the other friends I have lost until my grief is not quite so near.'

'Our kin, Lord Celeborn in _Lothlórien,_ would welcome you,' Thranduil suggested quietly. 'He has previously suffered much loss and would empathise with your need for solitude; also Lord Elrond is famed for his ability to help those who are troubled.'

Inclining his head, Legolas answered, 'I will send you word when I decide on my destination; for now I will simply bid you farewell, Father, and until next we meet may all the Valar protect you.'

'And you also, my son. And when you look to the sky know that it will always link you to me.'

His eyes conveying the sentiment he could not voice, Legolas bowed respectfully and went to turn away.

'Legolas.' Stepping forward, Thranduil placed a light hand on his son's shoulder. 'I truly am sorry for Tauriel's passing. As she was your friend her death grieves my heart as surely as the sun will continue to rise and set; but my sorrow is also for the loss of yet another of my people. Please do not ever think I consider her death to be of little or no importance.'

Lifting one of his own hands to cover his father's, Legolas left it there for a brief moment and then, his voice a choked whisper of sound, said quietly, 'thank you, Father.'

As his son stepped back once again and began to walk away, Thranduil closed his eyes and lowered his head with a deep sigh. His son had never before left the shelter of their woods on a long journey unless it was by his side and now he was leaving for an indefinite period of time for a place as yet unknown.

 _Keep him safe, I beseech you, O Elbereth Gilthoniel. Shelter him in your light and grace. Ease his grief and may his return be swift._

x x x

Upon entering the ruins of Dale a short time later, Thranduil noticed the grey-clad figure of the wizard standing outside one of the tents with his arm in a sling.

'Mithrandir, your injury is not severe I trust?'

Turning to greet the Elvenking, Gandalf gave a slight bow as he replied courteously, 'a minor hurt; I fear my advanced years caught up with me. I am greatly relieved to see you have passed through the battle relatively unscathed.'

'Unfortunately the same cannot be said for many of our friends who took to the field of battle yesterday,' Thranduil said grimly. 'Even my son was wounded; something I hoped never to witness.'

'Legolas was hurt?' Gandalf exclaimed in concern.

'It was not a grave injury,' Thranduil reassured him. 'He called it a mere scratch, but I will not rest easy until our healers have told me the wound is clean.'

'That is understandable,' Gandalf agreed.

'Now, Mithrandir, where is Thorin Oakenshield? You sent word that he wished to have discourse with me.'

'Indeed.' Gesturing to the tent behind him, Gandalf informed his companion, 'his life is almost spent, however, he said he would speak with you before he goes to join his forefathers.'

Moving forward silently, Thranduil parted the opening of the tent and entered. Gandalf, following close behind him, said, 'Hail! Thorin, the Elvenking has come.'

His body covered in many wounds and already laid out as though for burial, Thorin slowly turned his head and looked up with dim eyes at the tall elf standing beside him. When he spoke his voice was hoarse; every syllable a strained effort.

'Although I cannot think kindly of our previous dealings when you imprisoned me and my kin, I would not depart from this life leaving a debt of honour unfulfilled. You and your people assisted in helping to defend my home against the goblins and for that I thank you.'

Wordlessly, Thranduil gazed down at the still proud face of the dwarf. The words of gratitude had clearly been difficult for the King under the Mountain to say and yet speak them he did; albeit with a grudging attitude.

'Your thanks are not needed, although they are appreciated,' Thranduil finally replied. Then, his elf humour getting the better of him, the Elvenking said, 'you could say my motives for helping were selfish to some extent.'

As he had known would happen, Thranduil watched as Thorin's eyes narrowed with suspicion. 'What do you mean by that?'

Even Gandalf looked uncertain as he turned his eyes back to the elf.

'All things considered, and notwithstanding your race's penchant for creating trouble, I believe I much prefer having a group of noisy, unruly and unmannerly dwarves as neighbours rather than a goblin infestation.'

A short, tense silence passed. Then Thorin's lips twitched beneath his beard.

'If my body were not so broken I'd show you just how unmannerly we dwarves can be, you woodland sprite,' he retorted, although the lack of any real animosity in his voice took the sting out of the insult.

'Of that I have not the smallest doubt,' Thranduil replied dryly. 'Now I will take my leave of you, son of Durin.'

'Wait!' The urgent tone in the weak voice had the Elvenking glancing curiously at the dwarf. 'The hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, I know he was positioned with your people; I would speak to him also.'

'Alas, Thorin, we have not been able to find our little burglar,' Gandalf said sadly. 'I lost track of him during the battle and although we have searched we can find no trace of him.'

'I myself have not seen our worthy Mr Baggins since the first early moments of the battle,' Thranduil admitted, 'although my people and I did hear his voice cry out from the high tops of Ravenhill announcing the eagles were coming. Strangely, none could see him even though we all heard his voice.'

His brow furrowing in a deep frown, Gandalf muttered, 'you, Bilbo Baggins, are a most efficient and stealthy burglar to deceive even the eyes of elves.'

Looking again toward Thranduil, Gandalf asked, 'you are certain it was from the tops of Ravenhill his voice came? That area has been searched many times already and not a single sign of him has been found.'

The Elvenking shot the wizard an impatient glare. 'Unless hobbits are capable of separating their voices from their bodies, Mithrandir, then I can tell you with absolute certainty that the little one was definitely there.'

Bestowing a slight bow in the elf's direction, Gandalf apologised. 'I did not mean to question the keenness of your hearing, Lord Thranduil. I guess it would appear then that in Bilbo Baggins I discovered the sneakiest thief in all the land; so sneaky, in fact, that not even elf-eyes can catch a glimpse of him.'

Turning back toward Thorin, Gandalf said, 'I will send out one last search party to Ravenhill; we must hope that they will find Bilbo this time.'

Following the direction of the wizard's gaze with his own eyes, Thranduil solemnly looked upon the dying dwarf whose spirit was fighting valiantly to remain inside the broken remains of its mortal body.

'You may send some of my people in your search party,' he said quietly. 'With their assistance you should find your little companion more swiftly.'

Gandalf smiled warmly. 'Your offer is indeed gratefully accepted, Lord Thranduil.'

Acknowledging the thanks with a small tilt of his head, the Elvenking looked for the last time at Thorin. 'I bid you farewell, Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain. May Aulë grant your spirit safe passage to the halls of your kin.'

With a final, regal inclination of his head, Thranduil turned and departed, his feet making not a whisper of sound on the stone ground as he walked away.

'By the beard of Durin,' Thorin gasped, his face twisting with a grimace of pain even as a glint of humour showed in his eyes, 'every elf should be born with a bell tied around their neck; that silence is too unnatural.'

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ The memory Thranduil has of his father telling him to wipe his sword was inspired by a moment in The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe by Tolkien's friend C.S Lewis - it's when Aslan tells Peter: "And whatever happens, never forget to wipe your sword." I've always loved that bit! :)


	2. The Son's Remorse

_**Part 2 – The Son's Remorse**_

Several hours after having taken leave of his father, and paying an extremely short visit to the healers, Legolas slowly made his way among the tangled corpses that lay strewn across the southern slopes of the mountain, meticulously searching for any elven arrow that was salvageable. Indeed, many of the archers from Mirkwood were engaged in the same task; their tall forms moving silently through each section of the battlefield with their normally merry expressions transformed to ones of restrained grief as other members of their kin continued to remove the bodies of their dead and wounded. Not having been present for the entirety of the battle, Legolas had been unaware of the heavy losses suffered by his father's army and it was only now as he watched each discovered body be taken away that he was confronted with the tragic reality.

'That is surely a jest, but a very poor one.'

'Indeed, no elf of the Woodland Realm would ever commit such a heinous act. We are none of us one of the Noldor.'

'Faeron saw it with his own eyes; she not only drew her weapon against another elf, but an elf who was her own king.'

His movements frozen to complete stillness by the hushed words, Legolas remained crouched behind a large rock, his body hidden from the group of elves gathered at the foot of the mountain and his hand clasped around the arrow shaft protruding from the body of the dead giant bat in front of him. _Who had dared to threaten his father?_

'Surely her mind was affected by some evil spell performed by the follower of Sauron at Dol Guldur? Not since the time of the kinslayings has an elf threatened the life of another. Why would she do such a thing?'

'Apparently Tauriel believed sending aid to the naugrim, and thus weakening our force against an overwhelming enemy, to be of greater importance than defending our designated position and keeping our strength unified. By threatening him I believe she thought she could make King Thranduil obey her demands.' The disbelief in the elf's voice clearly conveyed his own shock at Tauriel's actions. 'She then accused our king, _her_ king, of being unfeeling and lacking in all compassion when he was forced to make the decision to fallback. Our king has little love for the race whose members betrayed and slew his father's friend, King Thingol of Doriath, but this would not stop him from lending assistance had it been possible to provide it. After all, he did go to the dwarves aid when he first heard that Smaug had attacked the mountain and the city of Dale; but by the time he was able to arrive the dragon was already in control of the mountain, Dale was in ruins and there was not much that could have been done that would not have ended with a significant and needless waste of life. The most he was able to do was supply food and medicinal assistance to the survivors.'

'Yesterday he did give the order to advance after the eagles came,' another voice inserted quietly. 'My brother was one of those sent to deliver the message to our group. He was killed after we had advanced but a short distance.'

'Aye,' a sad voice reflected, 'even with the aid of the eagles our numbers were too few against Sauron's filth.'

A solemn silence descended and Legolas, whose still form had remained undetected by the group of elves and whose mind was reeling at the revelation about Tauriel, prepared to retreat as quietly as he had arrived when a voice asked a question that caused any thought of leaving to disappear.

'How is our king faring?'

A proud, good-natured sound of amusement softly escaped one of the elves before they said, 'he survived the battle with ne'er a single injury to slow him down.'

'Indeed, he displayed all his usual prowess and grace in battle, despite not having taken part in one for many centuries. Those small skirmishes with the spiders when he goes out hunting must help keep his skills fresh.'

'That was not what I meant,' the voice that asked the original question interjected. 'I am aware of his physical health; we all would have been informed had he been injured. I referred to how he is coping with our losses and his missing son. When last I spoke to any in his entourage he had not been able to locate Prince Legolas, despite scouring nearly every inch of the battlefield for him.'

'According to Arthion who spoke with Eraisuithan, Prince Legolas found his father a few hours ago. He would not say much of what happened, only that King Thranduil behaved in the manner of any father who was reunited with their much loved child.'

'I am pleased for our king's sake that one worry has been lifted from his mind,' another elf said. 'Hopefully his son's presence may give him some comfort as he grieves for those that were lost.'

His eyes closing as he listened, Legolas realised with growing shame that he had not once considered his father's feelings when he announced his decision to leave. Whilst he had lost a number of dear friends he knew his father would feel deeply the loss of every elf life as he regarded all who lived within his realm as being under his protection. To have his own son leave him to face such sorrow alone must have pained his father immensely.

'I had heard that he followed after Prince Legolas alone when he went with Tauriel to aid the naugrim. The prince is fortunate he did not meet the same fate as she, and thankfully we are spared the pain of watching our king succumbing to his grief.'

'It could not have been easy for him, to watch as his son followed Tauriel into that bloodbath, especially after he had given the order for everyone to pull back to the mountain.'

A dreadful silence greeted this statement. Then, a voice that Legolas recognised as belonging to Rainion, one of the eldest of the Sindar elves in their kingdom and a close friend of his father, said with a note of deep pain, 'I had hoped to never again see such an expression in his eyes. It spoke of a sorrow and dread that no word of comfort or healing could ever alleviate. A grief that is beyond tears. Each time I have seen that look in the king's eyes they have become more remote, as though he would distance himself for the next time he needs face such pain again. It grieves my heart when I think of him as he was in Beleriand, before the first innocence fell from his eyes.'

'He was not then always as he is now? Suspicious of strangers and wary of all who enter the forest?'

'There was a time when he was more merry than the most light-hearted child. His singing was sweeter than that of the prince and there was none that he met that he did not greet with friendship.'

'Indeed he still did treat the dwarves with kindness when first he had them brought before him,' one elf commented. 'He had us release them from their bonds but their ill-manners and surly attitude when he questioned them was such that he had us gaol them along with their leader, Thorin, who also had refused to answer his just questions as to their identities and purpose for travelling through his realm.'

'Rainion, you said he sang but despite his being one of the Sindar I do not believe I have ever heard him sing.'

'Being only young, Beiniel, you would not. After lamenting the loss of his father and so many of our kin on the plains of Dagorlad, our king's singing voice was silenced for the first time, and remained that way until the birth of his son. All of us who were residing in his realm at the time will never forget the moment when his joyous singing was heard throughout the halls and forest once again. The Queen once told me that all it took was one look at his newborn son and it was as though the shackle of grief on his tongue was finally shattered. Unfortunately that happiness did not remain. The last time our king ever sang was when he farewelled his queen after she was slain; although, with the shroud of sorrow so heavy about him, I firmly believe he was only able to do it because the prince asked it of him.'

At Rainion's last words a memory from his early past arose in Legolas' mind: of his small hand clasping onto his father's robes as he stared up into the Elvenking's tortured eyes and pleaded for him to sing the lament for his mother; the gentle touch of his father's hand on his head as he softly agreed, even as the overwhelming sadness at the loss of his wife continued to envelop him. The elf-prince closed his eyes as the next memory naturally followed; the image of his father standing beside him, his strong hand engulfing Legolas' much smaller one, as his warm voice sang the haunting words of farewell.

'There is not much he would not do for his son,' Rainion continued quietly. 'Being an only child, Prince Legolas enjoys the full devotion and affection of his father, especially as he is the sole member of the king's immediate family here on Middle Earth.'

'I had heard that it was only due to the prince's intercession that Tauriel was made Captain of the Guard.' The quiet voice of the elf whose brother had been killed held no malice, just calm reflection. 'I know that there were some who refused to believe the news when it first began to spread.'

'With good reason,' came the swift reply. 'When the last Captain of the Guard had to resign his post due to his injuries after that encounter with the spiders, many of us, myself included, knew the king was considering giving the position to one of those who had fought beside him in the past or Eraisuithan's son, Calanon, who had proved himself to be a mature and courageous warrior. Therefore it was quite a shock when it was announced that he had appointed a young elf who had only recently passed her six hundredth year, had no real battle experience and who possessed little control over her inclination to do as she pleased without due regard for the welfare of her fellow elves.'

'So the prince actually did petition his father to appoint Tauriel as captain? Why would he do such a thing?'

'According to King Thranduil, his son believed that she should be given a chance as her fighting skills were quite impressive. Knowing his son's kindness, King Thranduil also suspected that given Tauriel's past his son wanted her to find a position of some importance so she would feel appreciated.'

'I would not wish to speak ill of one who has fallen but she certainly did not repay his kindness very well. She was often heard complaining that he hid us away from the light and he physically did little to protect his kingdom. Not to mention the times she accused him of looking down on "lowly Silvan elves" as she put it.'

'She really thought he looks down on Silvan elves?' The incredulous tone in the elf's voice informed his listeners that he found the very idea outrageous. 'King Thranduil, and his father before him, did everything they could to integrate themselves with us. Why even the prince's name was bestowed upon him in the Silvan dialect by the king himself.'

His heart too wounded to listen to anymore of the conversation, Legolas silently retreated, the arrow he had been retrieving left embedded in the giant bat's corpse. He had never known his friend had thought or even dared to say such things about his father. Whilst it was true his father was wary of outsiders and preferred to protect his people by withdrawing them from the threat of wild men and dwarves, he did everything he possibly could to ensure his people could live happily (the number of feasts out in the forest clearly proved that!). He also knew his father was ever concerned about the evil arising again from Mordor; having little trust in the strength and vigilance of the men set to guard against such a calamity. As for physically protecting his kingdom, although his father now only went out occasionally with the hunting parties, Legolas could recall memories from his earliest years when his father would regularly lead the patrols into the forest. His mother had once revealed that his father had sworn to do this until such time as the number of elves had significantly increased after their losses at Dagorlad and he could dedicate himself to the more 'mundane' duties of a king.

'And it was her.' The pained whisper escaped the elf-prince's lips as he slowly sank down onto the ground. 'She's the one who threatened him.' Bowing his head, Legolas stared blankly at the rocky surface below him. 'Why didn't he tell me?'

When he had reached them on the battlefield he had only seen his father confronting Tauriel; the Elvenking's sharp, challenging words causing his son to immediately leap to his young friend's defence.

'I never even thought to ask why he'd say something like that during a battle, and then to leave him to face our people's grief alone without a single consideration for his wellbeing, what does that indicate about myself?'

His mind now clouded with uncertainty, Legolas wondered if he could in good conscience continue to proceed with his original intention to depart and consequently leave his bereaved father alone. The more he considered the question the greater his conviction grew that to abandon his parent now would be one of the most selfish acts he had ever committed. Not once in all his long years had his father ever asked him to give up anything important, and even now, when having his only son leave him must surely bring great pain to his heart, his father still refused to put his own feelings and wishes ahead of his son's.

'I cannot allow him to bear this sorrow in solitude. I must return.'

His fair features set in an expression of grim determination, Legolas swiftly began to descend the mountain once again; his fleet form a mere blur to normal eyes as he hastily made his way down the lower slopes.

A short distance from the foot of the mountain, the elf-prince spied a grey-clad figure resting wearily against a large rock, their old eyes staring unseeingly at the carnage that still lay upon the battlefield in the valley.

'Mithrandir!'

Looking up at the sound of the light voice, the white-haired wizard permitted a small smile to appear behind his beard.

'Legolas Greenleaf, I do believe you grow taller every time I see you.' Gazing up into the elf's face, Gandalf's smile quickly faded as he observed the normally merry features now cast in a look eerily similar to that of the prince's father when he was most disturbed. 'What has happened?'

Completely disregarding the wizard's concerned question, Legolas demanded urgently, 'do you know where I may find my father?'

His brow furrowing in thought, Gandalf replied slowly, 'I do not recall seeing him again after he finished conversing with Thorin, I am afraid my attention was focused on finding the last member of Thorin's company. However, I understand that your people have started moving their fallen to a burial ground on the south-western plains of Dale so you may find your father there.'

'You have my thanks, Mithrandir.' With a brief gesture of farewell and respectful inclination of his head, Legolas turned and quickly started his way through the valley toward Dale. It was not long before his sharp ears caught the sound of elf voices in the far distance. Unlike before at the foot of the mountain, when the few elf voices were lowered to a hushed whisper, these voices were raised in song; but it was not a merry, cheerful song, instead the sound was that of hearts crying out in sorrow.

'A Elbereth Gilthoniel,

o menel palan-diriel,

le nallon sí di'nguruthos!

A tiro nin, Fanuilos!'

His feet carrying him swiftly toward the voices, Legolas' pace slowed as he drew nearer to the source; but as his eyes alighted on the sight spreading out before him, he came to a complete stop.

Over a vast expanse of ground, amidst the foul piles of their enemies' burnt remains, lay the still bodies of the fallen elves, their number continuing to increase as more were brought from other parts of the battlefield; and there, his tall form moving with tireless grace as he solemnly knelt down on one knee to close the eyes of each warrior, whilst his fair voice sang out their name before repeating the hymn to Elbereth, was the Elvenking.

His stunned gaze fixed upon his father, Legolas was only vaguely aware of the men and dwarves scattered across the battlefield who paused in their task of removing their dead and wounded to listen; their grieved hearts seeming to find some solace in the elven song, despite not understanding the words. His own heart aching with sadness, Legolas felt the sound of his father's singing wash over him; the beautiful voice that had been silent for so long enveloping him in its warmth once again, evoking memories of a time when his father was the centre of his world and just hearing him sing was enough to soothe any youthful fears.

Many an hour then passed with Thranduil continuing to lead his people in singing over the bodies of the slain before they were removed to the burial ground; the constant flow of calming tones bringing a more peaceful, albeit sorrowful, resonance to the place that only a day prior had rung with the screams of battle. As he watched the last of the elf bodies be taken away and heard his father sing the hymn to Elbereth one final time, Legolas slowly began to walk forward, his concerned gaze noting the small signs of strain just beginning to show around his father's eyes.

'I hope I never live long enough to ever again hear such sadness in the voices of elves.'

The small, dejected voice certainly did not belong to any elf, nor to any dwarf. His attention momentarily diverted, Legolas looked over at a little figure seated on the ground, whose red-rimmed eyes and hoarse voice bespoke of recent grief and a heavy bout of weeping.

'This has been a bad, miserable business. All those merry elves that will now lie beneath the cold ground with the brave Lake-men and fierce dwarves; they did not deserve such a fate. Alas, poor Thorin and Fili and Kili, my dear friends and companions, who will never again see the sun shine upon their home. I would old Smaug still slept on the wretched treasure and all those elves, men and dwarves who died be back among us. You are a fool, Bilbo Baggins, who should never have left his hobbit-hole.'

His gentled eyes filling with compassion, Legolas silently watched as the hobbit wiped at his eyes and sniffed loudly. Still oblivious of the fact that he had an attentive listener, Bilbo released a dejected sigh and huddled deeper under the blanket around his shoulders.

'Those foolish songs of home were quite misleading. There is nothing glorious about these battles; there is only ruin and misery. The Elvenking said I was worthy of wearing the armour of elf-princes but I do not think that is true; I certainly was not of much use to him during the fighting. Oh, how I miss my garden and the peaceful green hills of the Shire. I am grown so weary of this adventure and long only to see the familiar lights of Bag End once more and see all my dear friends and family. Well, perhaps not those Sackville-Bagginses,' he admitted honestly, before saying with a deep yearning, 'I just want to be home again.'

Despite wanting to go immediately to his father's side, Legolas found he could not leave the little one alone in his misery without first offering some words of comfort. His feet treading silently upon the ground, he quietly approached the unhappy Bilbo and remarked softly, 'you are possessed of a good heart, Master Baggins.'

A faint squeak escaping his lips, Bilbo jerked in surprise before turning startled eyes toward the elf's face that lay a great height above his own. Strangely, Legolas thought he saw a glint of recognition flash through the hobbit's eyes although he was certain that they had never before met.

'My Lord Elf!' Scrambling to his feet, Bilbo performed a quick, courteous bow; the hasty movement causing him to wobble rather precariously.

'Be calm, my friend.'

Crouching down, Legolas reached out and steadied Bilbo with one hand. Despite the elf's lowered stance, Bilbo found he still had to gaze up a fair distance at the face above him.

'And do not doubt your worth,' Legolas continued gently. 'I have overheard the stories of your actions; of when you sought to prevent an outbreak of war by delivering the Arkenstone to Bard, and now your grief for those who have died, though none were kith or kin to you. Both speak clearly of your kind and noble spirit. When my father declared you worthy of an elf-prince's armour it was this quality he would have been acknowledging, not any display of physical prowess on the battlefield that could also be performed by one of the enemy.'

Resting his hand briefly on the hobbit's shoulder, Legolas gave a small smile. 'Take heart Master Baggins and do not fret over wanting to return home. Even those of us who have lived to see many a grand oak grow and die, often find ourselves longing for what is familiar when we feel troubled or saddened.'

Then rising up to his full height, Legolas inclined his head in farewell. 'May all the blessings of the Valar go with you, Bilbo Baggins, and until we meet again may the stars always shine upon you.'

As he recommenced making his way toward his father with Bilbo's own words of parting sounding out behind him, Legolas frowned upon seeing the elf who had treated his own minor wound in one of the healers tents quickly approach the Elvenking with a grim expression. The conversation that followed ended abruptly when Thranduil turned sharply and swiftly made his way toward the elven camp.

His own stride increasing in length as he hurried after his father, Legolas was still some distance away when he saw the tall, golden-haired elf enter one of the larger tents. It was not long before his keen hearing caught the sound of his father's voice and that of Handir; the most experienced healer in the woodland realm.

'My King, I am truly sorry. By the time he was found and brought to me there was nothing I could do to save him. I sent for you almost the instant he arrived, but his spirit lingered on for only one short moment.'

'What of Belegorn his grandson?'

'He has been assisting in retrieving the wounded. He does not yet know.'

There was a small pause and then Thranduil's voice, steeled against the grim task, said quietly, 'I will take the responsibility of informing him.'

Legolas did not have to see his father to know that his expression would have transformed into one of rigid resolve.

'But My King, surely I could do that?' Handir's voice protested. 'You have not rested since long before the battle.'

'Gildoron was one of the last of my father's closest friends that remained here on Middle Earth, and his son died whilst saving my life during the battle at Dagorlad. I cannot in good conscience permit any other to give Belegorn this news. Please send word to have him come here.'

'As you command, My King.'

Upon exiting the tent the elf-healer paused upon seeing Legolas' still form standing a short distance away. Beckoning the elf forward, Legolas waited until Handir was close beside him before he murmured quietly, 'I will remain with my father.'

Immediately understanding the unspoken implication that his presence would not be required once Belegorn arrived, Handir nodded silently and continued on his way.

Soundlessly approaching the tent, Legolas reached out to part the drapes covering the entrance when, through a small gap in the fabric, he saw his father kneeling beside the still figure laid out before him. In all his long life, Legolas could not recall ever seeing his father in so humble a position.

'I shall miss your wise counsel, Gildoron.' The Elvenking's softly spoken words were barely audible, even to Legolas' keen elf-ears. 'Oft-times your sage advice and encouragement helped me make the right decision in a difficult situation, especially during the moments when grief clouded my judgement. Your loyalty to my father and to myself I shall not forget.'

His silent form remaining undetected at the entrance, Legolas watched as Thranduil slowly lowered his head, the movement sending his long hair falling over his shoulders like a golden curtain. 'May Elbereth guide you safely to the Halls of Mandos and through her blessings may your spirit remain there but a brief moment. Farewell, dear friend.'

Reacting instinctively to the pain he heard in his father's voice, Legolas stepped through the tent's entrance; the drapes parting and falling back into place with a soft whisper of sound.

'I gave none permission to enter.'

Undeterred by the stern words, Legolas walked over to where the Elvenking remained rigidly still, his back dismissively turned toward any who would intrude upon his private grieving, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

'It is I, Father.'

Completely taken aback by the sound of his son's voice, Thranduil turned toward him with startled eyes and Legolas, for the first time since he was last lifted up into his father's arms as a child, found himself looking down into his father's face.

'Legolas.'

With a pang in his heart, Legolas observed the surprised joy that lit his father's eyes. Even after the pain he surely must have inflicted on him, his father only gave every sign of being happy to see him.

Rising slowly to his feet, Thranduil straightened to his full height and turned to face his son directly. Although the joy in his eyes remained, a soft, quizzical expression appeared as he gazed down into Legolas' upturned face.

'I did not expect to see you again so soon.'

His troubled conscience further stirred by this reminder of his earlier intentions, Legolas regarded his parent with solemn eyes.

'I am sorry, Father.'

Tilting his head slightly to the side, Thranduil considered his son with a bewildered look. 'Why? What have you done?'

'Through my actions and words over these past two days I have hurt you deeply,' Legolas confessed.

Thranduil silently looked down at his only child for a moment; then, a deep sigh escaping his lips, he turned and led him toward the side of the tent farthest away from Gildoron's body. 'Who has been speaking to you?'

'No one.' One raised sceptical eyebrow from his father and Legolas went on to admit, 'although I may have overheard a conversation between some of our people.'

'Given the nature of what was obviously discussed, I would sincerely hope it wasn't between some of the dwarves,' Thranduil commented dryly.

'Father, please do not make light of this,' Legolas pleaded. 'I was so focused on my own pain I had not given a single thought to yours until I heard some of our people talking. I am ashamed to think that others not of our blood were before me in acknowledging your grief.'

'Legolas –'

'And to also learn of Tauriel's words and deeds against you during the battle,' the elf-prince continued, 'to discover that she had again betrayed your trust and threatened your life when it was I who requested you appoint her as Captain of the Guard, and then for me to say what I did and abandon your side –'

'Legolas!'

Startled by the sharp, rebuking tone in his father's voice, Legolas fell silent.

Seeing that he had finally obtained his son's attention, the Elvenking's voice regained its more mellow tone as he said, 'firstly, while I will admit to being disappointed, and indeed, quite infuriated, by her actions, I do not hold you responsible or accountable for Tauriel's choices. We each must forge our own path and she chose hers quite freely. As for making her Captain of the Guard, the ultimate responsibility for that decision lies with me and your recommendation of her for the position was not without merit and was done with the purest of intentions.'

'But Father, what of my own –'

Halting his son's words with one uplifted hand, Thranduil informed him quietly, 'if you were to ask was I hurt by your own words and actions, my honest answer would have to be in the affirmative; however, I cannot hold them against you, Legolas, arising as they did from concern for your friend and not a deliberate, malicious intent.'

'You may not hold them against me, Father, but I cannot pretend that I do not now regret them, especially with the knowledge that my actions led to you risking yourself to follow after me.'

'A decision I made of my own free will,' Thranduil pointed out firmly, 'and one which I will never consider an ill-choice.'

'I am still sorry that I put you in that position,' Legolas said, 'and that I caused you so much worry after the battle by not immediately sending word to you that I had survived.'

His ancient eyes glimmering with compassion, Thranduil gave a small, understanding smile. 'We all are capable of forgetting many things when our minds and hearts are heavy with grief, and while sometimes that may result in bad decisions being made, you have done nothing for which you should feel ashamed.'

'Apart from deciding to leave you alone and surrounded by our people's grief when you returned home.'

'It would not have been my first time dealing with such an experience,' Thranduil reminded him quietly, 'but you have never before had to confront the loss of so great a multitude of our people. It is therefore understandable that you would desire to leave and find a place of quiet refuge and tranquillity.'

'I will no longer be leaving, Father,' Legolas revealed with firm resolution, looking directly into his father's eyes. 'I have chosen to remain with you.'

'My son, there is no need –'

'Father, my choice is made and I will not alter it. I will return with you to Mirkwood. The pain for the loss of my friends may be sharpened by memories evoked by familiar surroundings; however, I would rather suffer an age of that than the anguish of knowing that I had left you to bear the weight of our peoples' sorrow alone.'

A silent moment passed as Thranduil regarded his son's determined face. Finally, a soft sigh escaped his lips. 'You remind me so much of your mother. You may have received many of your physical traits from me, but your gentle heart you certainly did not.'

The last remark was said with such a self-deprecating look that Legolas almost smiled.

'You are still capable of great kindness, Father, and it is not without reason that our people call you our greatest king.'

His expression displaying no sign of gratification at his son's words, the Elvenking's face darkened as he looked over to where Gildoron's body lay in the stillness of death.

'I wonder,' he murmured solemnly, 'can anyone truly deserve that appellation of greatness.'

The soft voices of an approaching pair of elves prevented any reply Legolas may have made; but as the voices drew closer to the tent and he watched his father mentally prepare himself to deliver the grim news of Gildoron's passing to the elf's grandson, he reflected that his father was answering his own question with his actions.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_

Rough translation of the hymn to Elbereth as it appeared in Chapter 10 of The Two Towers and as sung by Thranduil and the elves in this story:

O Elbereth Starkindler,

from heaven gazing afar,

to thee I cry now beneath the shadow of death!

O look towards me, Everwhite!


	3. The Return Home

_**Part 3 – The Return Home**_

It had been some days after the battle before the elf-host finally started their long march home. Many of their number had been slightly surprised when the Elvenking's order to remain encamped near the Mountain had reached them, although this had been nothing compared to the shock of learning that he, Thranduil himself, had laid Orcrist, the treasured sword of the High Elves, on Thorin's tomb. The incredible news had been quickly spread by those who witnessed the startling event; and while none knew for certain why he did it, many agreed that the Elvenking's gesture assisted in easing the tense relations between the elves of Mirkwood and the dwarves of Erebor.

As his father continued to lead their people toward the borders of Mirkwood, Legolas' eyes softened as he watched the tall elf bend slightly to converse with the little hobbit who currently rode beside him. His father's expression was open and relaxed, and Legolas listened in fond amusement as he heard them discussing, of all things, the proper care of young saplings. The hobbit was clearly enthusiastic about the subject and Legolas could tell his father was surprised, and slightly impressed, by the halfling's knowledge.

Observing the small smile on Thranduil's face as he spoke to his companion, Legolas wondered if the hobbit knew how rare it was for anyone to receive such quick approval and favour from his father; throughout his own lifetime he could count all the instances he had witnessed such an occurrence on one hand.

'King Thranduil certainly appears in better spirits than I have seen him to be in for quite a number of days.'

Turning his gaze toward the grey-clad wizard who had ridden up alongside him, Legolas observed, 'I believe most of the credit for that, Mithrandir, can be attributed to the undemanding company of your little friend.'

Giving a small chuckle, Gandalf said lightly, 'I must own that I myself have found the society of hobbits to be extremely uplifting, although some of them can also be rather unpredictable.' Then casting a surreptitious glance at the elf beside him, Gandalf added, 'I believe your own presence must also have helped considerably.'

'My father was certainly relieved that I decided to remain,' Legolas admitted, but then added with a smile, 'although, I think part of his good humour also comes from knowing that Lord Elrond currently has his hands full with the young child Estel.'

'Indeed.' An inscrutable look briefly appeared in Gandalf's eyes before he said with studied casualness, 'I was not aware that your father knew the boy.'

'They met a few years ago in Imladris,' Legolas revealed, completely missing the startled expression that flashed across his companion's face. 'My father received a rather unexpected request from Lord Elrond that was obscure enough in its meaning that it quite intrigued my father into accepting the invitation. After he returned home, my father told me Lord Elrond had been given the care of a very young child that was already proving to be quite headstrong and adventurous. I certainly suspected, from some things he mentioned, that my occasionally mischievous parent had enjoyed interacting with the boy and encouraging him in his exploratory endeavours; in fact, since that time, Lord Elrond has sent regular updates on Estel's progress to my father – the most recent being received two days ago, and it contained such amusing stories on the merry actions of the boy that I heard my father properly laugh for the first time since the battle.'

'So you have not met the boy yourself?' Gandalf asked.

'I have not been to Imladris for quite a number of summers and the child is but ten in the years of men,' Legolas replied.

'A straightforward "no" would have sufficed,' Gandalf muttered good-naturedly. 'Elves – you never like to give a simple answer to a simple question.'

'And wizards are never enigmatical in their replies?' Legolas challenged, an impish light in his eyes.

'Hmph.' Grumbling under his breath, Gandalf made a fastidious show of adjusting his mount's reins. 'You're certainly as impudent as your father.'

'I am flattered you think so, Mithrandir,' Legolas returned with a smile. 'A higher compliment I could never be paid.'

Unable to hide his amusement at this rejoinder, Gandalf gave a bark of laughter and then settled in to enjoy one of his favourite pastimes – a game of witty repartee with a skilled opponent.

xxxxxxxxxx

The clear afternoon sky was darkening to a deep violet when Thranduil brought the elf-host to a halt near the borders of Mirkwood. Having dismounted, he turned to watch as Beorn, whose loud and cheerful singing had entertained them all for quite some time, led Gandalf's horse and Bilbo's pony away from the main group while the two unlikely companions slowly approached him.

'Are you quite sure you will not accompany us to my halls?' the Elvenking asked, his tone warm with invitation. 'Your presence would be highly welcome and you could rest a while before continuing on with your journey.'

'You are most gracious in your kind offer,' Gandalf replied courteously, 'however, I believe our poor Mr Baggins is not yet fully recovered from his last venture into these woods and his encounter with your not so pleasant fellow inhabitants.'

His blue eyes darkening in comprehension, Thranduil nodded. 'I understand,' he said quietly, then turning a compassionate gaze toward Bilbo, he added, 'it is unfortunate you could not see these woods when their beauty was undefiled and the most you would need to fear was stumbling over a protruding root.'

'I would have liked to have seen that,' Bilbo agreed wistfully. 'I'm sure they would have been truly magnificent.'

'They were,' Thranduil affirmed simply. 'And shall be again, and on that day, Mr Baggins, you would be welcomed with honour in my halls.'

'Then I hope I live long enough to see it,' Bilbo said.

Turning his attention back to Gandalf, Thranduil asked, 'will you take the northern route around the forest?'

'That is our intention,' Gandalf replied.

'The road is certainly long and cheerless,' the Elvenking reminded him, 'and then there is the wasteland between the top end of the forest and the beginning of the Grey Mountains through which you will have to pass. Several of my people may go with you to ensure that you are protected on your journey around our borders.'

Gandalf waved his hand dismissively. 'With most of the goblin army now crushed the way should be safe enough,' he said. 'Besides, we shall have Beorn to accompany us and I doubt that any villain would feel courageous enough to confront him.'

Casting a look over to where the tall, intimidating figure of Beorn stood waiting, Thranduil had to agree.

'Well then, Bilbo Baggins, we had best be off on our way,' Gandalf declared before directing a smile and respectful bow toward Thranduil. 'Farewell, O Elvenking,' he said, 'merry be the greenwood, while the world is yet young! And merry be all your folk!'

Returning the wizard's smile, Thranduil inclined his head graciously. 'Farewell, O Gandalf,' he answered. 'May you ever appear where you are most needed and least expected. The oftener you appear in my halls the better shall I be pleased.'

'Excuse me.'

The soft voice drew Thranduil's gaze down to where Bilbo stood before him, nervously shifting from one foot to the other, whilst his hand fumbled around inside his coat pocket.

'I – I beg of you to accept this gift,' Bilbo stammered, and to Thranduil's astonished eyes he withdrew from out of his pocket an exquisite necklace.

Unlike the emeralds of Girion, a treasure of immense value presented to him as a token of thanks by a grateful Bard, this necklace was wrought with silver and pearl. Thranduil recognised it immediately.

Concealing his emotions behind a calm expression, the Elvenking bestowed a questioning look on Bilbo as he asked, 'in what way have I earned such a gift, O hobbit?'

His face reddening slightly with embarrassment, Bilbo continued to hold out the sparkling necklace as he replied in some confusion, 'well, er, I thought, don't you know that, er, some little return should be made for your, er, hospitality. I mean even a burglar has his feelings. I have drunk much of your wine and eaten much of your bread. At first I was unsure what to give you,' he added with more confidence, 'but then I recalled something Thorin said about this particular necklace. By chance, it is one of the pieces given to me by Dáin and I felt that it was only right to give it to you.'

At this revelation, Thranduil's eyes softened and bending down to finally reach out his hand to gently accept the necklace, he said gravely, 'I will take your gift, O Bilbo the Magnificent. And I name you elf-friend and blessed. May your shadow never grow less – or stealing would be too easy. Farewell.'

After directing an amiable smile toward Bilbo, who instantly reciprocated with one of his own, the Elvenking turned and remounted his horse. Then the elf-host was on the move once more.

As darkness continued to fall, Thranduil looked down at the necklace still clasped in his hand; and, just as he remembered it doing in the past, it began to shine with a unique white brilliance.

'I thought I recognised it when the hobbit held it out to you.'

The quiet voice of his son coming from beside him had Thranduil turning to look in his direction.

'That was Mother's.'

'Yes.' Although brief, the Elvenking's answer was gently spoken. 'I had thought to never see it again.'

Hearing the heavily suppressed emotion in his father's voice, Legolas chose not to pursue that subject any further. Instead, with admiration lacing his voice, he observed, 'Master Baggins must surely possess a very generous nature to relinquish such a valuable item so easily.'

'Indeed he has,' Thranduil said reminiscently. 'Twice now he has surrendered without qualm items which, even individually, would have gained him immense wealth.' His gaze coming to rest once more on the necklace held reverently in his hand, the Elvenking's expression grew solemn as he continued, 'a pure and simple heart such as that belonging to Bilbo Baggins cannot be easily corrupted, but let us hope our honest and admirable little hobbit is never exposed to a truly powerful evil.'

Legolas frowned. 'Surely there is little chance of that occurring? Did we not defeat the enemy and crush the goblin numbers to the point where it could take them a lifetime in the years of men to recover?'

'That is what you do not understand about the nature of evil, Legolas,' Thranduil said grimly. 'It does not always declare itself openly, such as it did in the physical battle we have just survived; sometimes it will assume a harmless guise to lull the unwary into leaving themselves vulnerable to its attack and then through deceit and twisting their emotions, it will destroy them from within. Such was the tactic used by Morgoth and his servant Sauron and only a fool would ever believe that so great an evil could remain dormant forever.'

'You speak of that which was defeated at Mordor?'

'Broken, not defeated,' the Elvenking corrected sternly. 'It may now appear to be nothing but a deserted wasteland, a foul area assigned to the watchful eyes of mortal men; however, I do not believe that deception – no matter what most of those in the White Council tell me.'

Turning his gaze toward the south where in the far distance lay the dark land of Mordor, Thranduil, his eyes shadowed with a deeply remembered pain and an intense feeling of foreboding, stated with grim certainty, 'the enemy is merely biding his time and when he is ready he _will_ arise again.'

* * *

 _ **Final Author's Note:**_

I would like to thank everyone who has read this story through to its conclusion. Whether you review or not I sincerely hope you enjoyed it.


	4. Author's Note

Author's Note

Sorry folks this is not a new chapter but hopefully what I have to say will make up for it! :)

I just wanted to let you all know that I have now completed two more stories based in Tolkien's world. Despite my stern words to myself about focusing on my original novel I could not resist delving again into the joy that is Middle Earth, especially after seeing the beautiful woodlands of Ireland last year and being inspired to write another story based around the Elves! Truly I think Tolkien was thinking of Ireland when he wrote about the Elven kingdoms!

The first story that will be posted over in the LOTR category is called The Providence of Mercy and could be considered a sequel to this story as it is based on when Aragorn takes Gollum to Mirkwood. I will be uploading it first – although not all in one day! I'm trialling doing the posting of chapters over a period of time (but not too long a time, I promise!).

The second story was inspired by a review left on this story by PegasusWingsVW who wished to see the first meeting between Thranduil and Aragorn. It is called The Bonds of Friendship and will be uploaded once I finish posting the LOTR story. I will most likely post it here in The Hobbit category.

I hope you all enjoy reading them and I will take this opportunity to thank everyone again for the lovely reviews you have left (especially the guest reviewers as I have not had a chance to thank you before this!) and also to express my gratitude to all those who have favourited/followed my story or added me to their favourite author list. You have no idea how happy it makes me to know that other people around the world have enjoyed my work. Bless you all.

Best Regards

Sarah

A sneak preview of part of the first chapter of The Providence of Mercy:

Having brought the creature's movements to a forceful stop with a short jerk on the halter, the man gave a harsh warning: 'be silent; or I shall replace the binding over your mouth.'

Snivelling miserably, the creature shot a malevolent look toward the man but did not dare utter another word. However, a very different voice did speak; the stern, but not unpleasant, sound coming from inside the hidden depths of the forest.

'Declare your name and allegiance prior to entering the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood,' it commanded, 'ere we place our own binding upon you.'

Straightening to his full height, the man looked in the direction of the voice. 'I am known by several names,' he replied, his words spoken fluently in the elven-tongue. 'I am friend to Gandalf the Grey and known to your own king, Thranduil, son of Oropher. I hold captive the one called Gollum.'

A moment of silence passed. Then, from out of the forest stepped a tall, fair Elf, arrayed in garments of green and brown with white gems sparkling on his collar and belt; the arrow fitted to his bow was pointed with deadly precision at the man.


End file.
